


A Thousand Years

by underthenorthstar



Series: Tumblr Fics [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Curses, F/M, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Sex, Loneliness, Love, Love Confessions, ancient to modern, blessings in disguise, finding happiness after loss, letting go, norse deities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 07:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11710050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: Freja Vidarsdottir, wife of Ivar the Boneless, suffers a great loss and cries to the gods for mercy. A thousand years later, it is finally granted, but not in the way she expects.





	A Thousand Years

**Author's Note:**

> A strange idea that came to me on a night shift. Freja is my OC from my long fic the Cripple and the Hellcat, but you don't have to have read that to read this. Enjoy!

It's winter again.

She pulls her scarf tighter, shivering against the bitter wind. The cold seeps straight into her bones, settling in like it has found its way home.

And really, it has. She has been so cold for so long. 

How many years has it been now? She has lost track. Eons and eons of pain and loneliness, wandering the ever changing world, never aging, never moving on. She had cried for mercy and for relief; her prayers had been answered with a curse. 

They had so little time together, her love and her. Her Ivar, her wild Prince. How he could make her sing with joy, her whole body melting with just a single touch. The way he loved her, with his heart and his body. Fiercely, loyally, completely. The gods had brought them together, and they had torn them apart.

As long as she lives, she will never forget his last moments. When he lay dying in her arms, barely able to speak but somehow still saying it all. I love you. I'm sorry. I wish we had more time. I'll see you in Valhalla. 

Except, she never would.

In her pain afterwards, when the boat carrying his body had sailed out to sea, she had cried out. She had begged, pleaded, implored the gods to bring her love back to her, for this to all have been some horrible dream.   
She wanted his warmth, his love, his fire. She wanted her Ivar. 

Her namesake was listening. 

And that night she dreamt, of raging winter and darkness and regret. Of pain and longing and hope and redemption. And Freya spoke to her, out of the howling East winds:

"Your prayer, child, will be answered, in its own way, in its own time. When winter melts to spring, when the sleeping becomes the awake. Then, your heart will be filled and your night will turn to day. You will know more joy than you have ever known before. Be at peace, little one, your husband drinks with his father. And you will be warm again."

She hasn't aged a day since that night. 

Era after era slipped by, each one lonelier than the last. Her people faded into history. The world changed and grew and moved forward. She walked through it all, cursing her forgotten gods. She tried once to end it all, to find rest in the earth, but she was denied. Her gods did not wish to receive her. And so, she continued on. Cold, alone, longing for the day when her prayer would be answered. When she would be warm and safe with her husband yet again. 

She shuffles along the busy street, eyes downcast, fingers numb. It's late, she has just finished her shift at the diner, and she longs to be back in her tiny apartment. She's not watching where she's going. She doesn't see the car as she steps out into the street. 

"Watch out!" 

She's yanked back suddenly by the back of her coat, the car whizzing by as she clutches her chest in fright. 

"You alright, doll?"

The voice is rough, tired. It sounds like she feels; weary and burdened but still marching on. She turns around to thank its owner. 

For the first time in over a thousand years, her heart flutters.

"Thank you," she says, studying the man before her. Tall and broad, layers of muscle visible even beneath his winter coat. Shoulder length brown hair, unkempt and windswept. Days old stubble. Ice blue eyes, so reminiscent of ones she had gazed into once upon a time. He looks haunted, sad. His large shoulders are hunched over, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. 

A strange feeling fleetingly lodges in her chest, something she feels like she may have felt a million lifetimes ago. She doesn't know what it means. 

She just knows he's beautiful. Broken, but beautiful. Like her Ivar.

And that's how it begins.

She doesn't want to let him in, at first. She resents the flutters, the long buried emotions that begin to rise the longer she gets to know him. Her heart beats for Ivar. There is no one else. She tells herself that day after day, as she tries to stay away but fails. He's like a magnet, drawing her in. She wants to run, she wants to stay. Ivar will be coming back to her, the gods have promised. So why does the man with the metal arm get under her skin so?

He listens to her story. He believes. He holds her as she sobs, all the pain and loneliness of the years slowly inching their way out. He shares his own pain, his own anguish, and it's her turn to hold him. She aches for him, for the torture and pain he has endured. She finds herself wishing she could take it all away.

Walls begin to fall, hearts begin to mend. They move closer and closer together, two broken halves circling, wheeling, lost lost lost. Waiting to be found. 

She begins think of a metal hand in hers, of thick muscles shuddering under her touch. She craves the scent of cinnamon and aftershave, the sound of soft murmured Russian, the feel of a different set of lips pressed against hers. It makes her sick. It feels like betrayal. 

Until one day, it doesn't. 

She dreams again, one night a year later. She dreams of winter melting into spring, of herself laughing with unbridled joy. Of night turning to day. Of that sensations she gets in her chest whenever he smiles at her. And she wakes suddenly knowing. The pieces fall into place and she knows. 

Her prayer has been answered. Not with Ivar, but with him. Ivar is gone. Ivar is in Valhalla.

But Bucky is here. Bucky is real, and here, and hers, if she will just reach out and take him. 

She makes her decision.

He's surprised when she shows up at his place at 3 am. He's even more surprised when she kisses him soundly. 

"Bucky," she's swaying in his arms, the taste of his kiss making her knees weak. "Bucky, I can't do this anymore. I...I need you. Please."

He gives her a long look, searching her face. He must see what he's looking for, as he lets out a loud groan and smothers her lips in a harsh kiss. 

"Damn, so sweet. Taste so good, babydoll," he murmurs into her mouth. "Freja, baby, are you sure? You want me? Cuz I want so you bad, baby. So bad."

She nods, heart racing. "I'm sure."

It's all the invitation he needs. 

"Been dreaming of this, babydoll," he sighs, stripping them of their clothes as she shudders beneath his gentle touch. "Been aching for you for a damn long time."

She presses kisses to his jaw, mewling in delight as he covers her naked flesh with his. "I was scared. I thought love would come the way I had always known it. I was wrong."

He pulls back to look at her. "You thought he would come back."

She nods. "I did. The gods spoke of love, and he was all the love I'd ever known."

Bucky's blue eyes are vulnerable. "And now?"

She takes a deep, steadying breath. "And now, I know that they meant something different. That you can love more than one person in your lifetime."

His metal hand cups her cheek, cool and comforting. "Do you love me, Freja?"

Her lip trembles. She has spent so long fighting this, spent so long trying to keep a grip on the memory of Ivar. But, that is all he is. A memory. He is never coming back. He will always be a part of her, but her heart has made room for another. She has always believed in fate, and this is what the gods have fated her for. Two loves, for two different lives of Freja. She understands that now. 

So she lets go of the last of her hesitation, and gives in. 

"I do," she whispers, pulling his face down so she can press a kiss to his sweet lips. "I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. My sun that has melted the winter into spring."

He gives a soft sob against her lips. "I love you too, babydoll. So damn much."

He makes love to her. It's sweet and tender and she shakes and gasps and cries his name with so much joy in her heart she thinks she may explode. Afterward, his arms cradle her close as she slowly falls asleep to a soft Russian lullaby. 

And Freja Vidarsdottir finally, after a thousand years of bitter cold, feels toasty warm.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: underthenorthstar


End file.
